


One Day you'll Kill Me

by Glitterthebutterslayer



Category: Pentatonix
Genre: Addiction, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Band Break Up, Biting, Blood and Injury, Break Up, Burns, Choking, Cigarettes, Crying, Daddy Kink, Depression, Dirty Talk, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drug Withdrawal, Drugged Sex, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Face Punching, I'm Going to Hell, I'm Sorry, M/M, Marking, Mental Breakdown, Mitch cries a lot, My First Work in This Fandom, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Touching, Pentatonix - Freeform, Pressure Washing, Psychological Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Assault, Shower Sex, Terrible things happen, Unconscious Sex, Vomiting, big sad, glue, im really sorry, scott is a bitch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:59:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23540455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glitterthebutterslayer/pseuds/Glitterthebutterslayer
Summary: Scott and Mitch have been hiding a terrible secret for a long time.Mitch can't stand it any longer.Scott won't let him go.Mitch can't leave.Scott will kill him.
Relationships: Mitch Grassi/Avi Kaplan, Mitch Grassi/Scott Hoying
Kudos: 13





	1. Sticky

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry.

Mitch felt like he couldn't breath, his heart was pounding so fast he could almost feel it in his throat. The cold sweat forming on his forehead was enough to tell him how high he was, he couldn't see much around him but he knew he wouldn't be able to focus from morphine that was pumping his way through his blood. Mitch tried to sit up in vain, screeching when his skin pulled painfully against the floor.   
He whined, his tongue feeling too big for his mouth. His hands were pinned above his head with a thick slather of a toxic smelling glue and from what he could feel (rather, not feel) from the heaviness of his feet, they were glued together as well. 

Every movement he attempted, he was met with an extremely painful pulling sensation on his skin, like every hair in his body was being pulled from its follicle.   
The same sensation stretched across his back when he wriggled against the hard boards of the floor. Mitch let out what could be described as a guttural garbled mess of sobs, he felt like his vocal cords were tied together with rubber bands that were on the brink pulling tighter. 

"Hey Mitchy..." 

Mitch strained to face the voice calling him, crying out when his hair pulled tight in the goo.   
"Mitch, don't struggle! You're going to hurt yourself." The voice nagged, growing closer to Mitch's sticky body. 

Mitch tried to speak, to beg for them to let him go but all he did was grunt like a restrained animal.   
His mouth was numb, his tongue feeling too big for his mouth. 

"Yeah. You can't. We don't want the neighbors writing us up for another noise disturbance do we?" Scott wandered out of the darkness, humming to himself.   
"You like what I've done?" He asked, twirling a large paintbrush in his hand.  
Mitch stared at Scott, doing his best to focus his shaking pupils on the predator in front him. 

"It's wallpaper glue. You're not getting out of that anytime soon. At least until I'm done with you." Scott laughed, tossing the brush away and hovered over Mitch’s sticky body.   
Mitch gurgled, drool sliding down the corners of his mouth. He was slowly losing the battle against the morphine in his system. 

"Don't look so scared, I did my research. I can get you out of this. It dissolves. It won't be painless though." Scott winked, straddling Mitch’s waist.   
"See? Now you can't roll away when I kiss you or even move at all!" Scott laughed like a little schoolgirl and littered Mitch’s face with kisses. 

Mitch could smell the vodka on Scott's breath, the alcohol so strong, it made his eyes burn, he looked away blinking away the tears that formed.   
Scott gave him a lazy smile, gliding his index finger down Mitch's lips, indulging in the quiver it induced from the frightened boy before dragging his lips down to Mitch's throat, biting down just above his clavicle.

Mitch screamed, his voice ripping back into existence, when he felt Scott's teeth pierce his delicate neck flesh.   
Suddenly the heroin wasn't doing much good. He was all too aware of what Scott was doing to him. 

Scott cursed, slapping Mitch across the face.   
Mitch reeled from the intensity of slap, his cheek burning red hot and his vision clouding.   
"Damn, I thought those drugs would last longer, don't fucking scream again."   
Scott resumed his intense biting on Mitch’s chest, either oblivious or ignoring the fact Mitch had ceased responding.   
Mitch felt the blood from his chest wounds trickling down his chest and pooling along the line of glue on his back. He felt drool slick out of the corner of his swollen mouth, the emptiness he felt in his gut slowly enveloping his every fiber as his best friend bit at his flesh. With a few feeble gurgles, Mitch slipped into warm embrace of unconsciousness as Scott lapped up the blood smeared across his chest. 

"Get up. I'm not done with you. " Scotts voice thundered through Mitch's mind like the blast of a speaker at full volume.  
Mitch groaned, watching Scott sprinkle something that smelt like sour milk over Mitch’s sticky limbs and wander off. He had one of Mitch's Versace silk scarves tied tightly around his arm and a fresh syringe in his hand.   
Mitch inwardly shuddered. His head pounded from the low, he couldn't imagine having any more injected tonight. 

Though he hadn’t had a choice for quite some time Mitch sighed, and laid on the wood he was glued too until he started to feel the glue unstick slowly.   
He was numb. Numb and empty.   
He had nothing to be happy about. His friend tortured him, Scott would shoot up a bunch of heroin and abuse Mitch until he felt empty.   
Sometimes even after that. It didn't matter what method he used, whether it be by pitching him all over or verbally abusing him, it didn't matter, it always ended the same. Mitch in tears, covered In his own bodily fluids and Scott tweaked out and laughing at him. 

It started about two months ago after a party. Mitch didn't remember much but they both had a shot of morphine and Scott had straddled Mitch back in there hotel room and tickled him until he was screaming and flailing for him to stop. Mitch knew something had changed in Scott that night. He could see that Scott saw him as something to be broken. Something to play with. Not his best friend anymore. 

Of course, he still acted like it all other days of the week; going for coffees, approving of Mitch’s new outfits; and filming new episodes of Superfruit.  
Everything was normal until Scott snapped. Scott would suddenly shove him against a wall and play with him like a toy.

The pain Mitch felt deep in his gut from the betrayal hurt more than the wounds Scott inflicted on him or the addiction that burned through his own veins. 

Mitch slowly sat up, inwardly screaming at the sensation of a thousand baby hairs getting pulled out of his skin. He hastily wiped his eyes free of tears with his gluey hands and stood, his legs shaking from Scott's assault.   
The bite wounds on coating Mitch's body stung violently, blood still leaking out of the largest on hid clavicle. He sniffled, his movements striking lightening through the wounds.   
"Mitchy...come on. What's takin you so long." Scott called cheerfully from the bathroom.   
Mitch inwardly winced., padding delicately towards the glow of the bathroom. 

Scott was already naked in the shower as Mitch entered.   
"Aw, you got unstuck with little trouble! Aren't you talented! Come on inside, I'll get the rest off you." Scott pushed the door open and offered his hand with s goofy smile   
Mitch's heart clenched painfully. Scott looked so genuine with that smile plastered on his face, Mitch swallowed back the lump forming in his throat, he knew perfectly well that he couldn’t trust him. There was something off with those piercing blue eyes, they looked hungry, animalistic even, his pupils tiny like pinpricks, shaking unnaturally. 

Mitch reluctantly took Scotts hand, stepping into the warmth of the shower. He hissed when the water hit his raw skin and the wounds. Tears began to fall unwanted down his cheeks. 

"Does it hurt? Does it burn Mitchy?" Scott hissed harshly in Mitch's ear ,keeping a painful grip on Mitch's hand.

Mitch nodded, sniveling. He hated being like this, a weak little boy who can't even fight back. He was in too deep. Too blinded by the hope that his friend push through the horrifying monster that had taken over him.   
Scott began scrubbing at Mitch’s hands with something that resembles a dish scrubber, removing chucks of the glue that remained. 

"See Mitch? I look after you. You'll look good as new. Nice and shiny." Scott babbled, scrubbing too hard in places, making Mitch audibly sob.   
Mitch stood perfectly upright, tears streaming down his face as Scott attacked his wrists with chemicals that burned more then the scalding water. He swallowed his strangled cries not wanting to appear anymore broken that he was. 

He wanted to gag when he heard Scott moan in response to Mitch's sharp in take of breath as he not so subtly rubbed the soapy water over the bite on his clavicle.   
"Mm. I think you know what it's time for Mitchy." Scott hummed, stroking Mitch’s thighs and turning the broken boy around and pressing him into the shower wall.

Something long and hard nuzzled itself between Mitch's ass cheeks.   
Mitch bit into his lip, saying nothing as Scott bent him over, pressing his face into the wall of the shower, letting his salty tears mix with the water on the tiles.   
Mitch stared directly into the tiles, willing Scott to back off, to let him go. He audibly gasped when he felt Scott's thick cock press inside him with no warning, biting down sharply on his back teeth.   
Scott moaned obnoxiously, giving Mitch’s backside a slap as he pushed in further.   
"So tight for daddy. I like it when your tight, Mitchy." Scott hissed, beginning to thrust a rough rhythm  
Mitch held his breath, trying to contain his moans until his legs started giving out from Scott fucking him like a filthy whore. He cursed the fact it felt good, he hated the fact his body reacted so positively to this torture and closed his eyes, praying it would be over soon.


	2. Tours and Taunts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short lil sneak peak into the hell that Mitch is going to go through.

Tours were something Mitch craved and this tour couldn’t of come any sooner. Scott watched Mitch twirl around the house, packing up all of his clothes and his shoes, all ready and excited to tour the world and sing his troubles away. He deeply wished that he and Scott could patch up this horrible situation and maybe, just maybe stop his addiction from getting any worse.

“Hope you know that our fun isn’t going to stop Mitchy.” Scott hummed, uncapping another needle with his teeth, indulging in how Mitch froze up. 

“It’s not going to stop. It will never stop.” Scott taunted, stalking behind his prey.   
“Just imagine, my cock in your sweet ass in every country around the world.” Scott whispered in Mitch’s ear, sliding his hands down Mitch’s waist and cupping his tiny hips.   
“God, you’re gorgeous. I just want to keep you all to myself.” Scott sighed, placing kisses down Mitch’s neck. Mitch refused to acknowledge Scott’s hands gently caressing his crotch and his mouth leaving wet marks on his neck. Scott stroked his arm, making Mitch wince as he rubbed the sensitive vein, teasing it with his fingertips. 

“You want a hit, baby doll?” Scott whispered, pulling out a shiny syringe and jamming it into Mitch’s arm before Mitch could refuse or push away.   
Mitch whined, wriggling fruitlessly in Scott’s ever tightening grip. The rush of heroin shooting up his arm and into his blood stream made Mitch’s knees weak.   
Mitch cried as the high began to take him over, Scott gently lowering him onto the floor.   
“Oh yes baby. That’s it. Let it take you on a ride.” Scott hummed, standing over Mitch’s fallen form. Mitch wanted to curse, to scream that he was a bastard but yet his tongue felt foreign in this mouth. Scott straddled Mitch’s waist and smothered his mouth with his own, blocking any groans or whines Mitch could produce.

“Oh fuck baby. You taste so good.” Scott moaned, licking along Mitch’s tender lips and grinding his growing erection against Mitch’s groin.   
The clouds were growing in Mitch’s mind, the thoughts of tour and freedom slowly diminishing as he was molested, his mind becoming blank as the heroin bled into his brain. Scott buried himself inside of Mitch’s body as he drooled hopelessly, Scott moaning obnoxiously. 

This tour was going to kill him.


	3. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Avi digs deep. Mitch cries a lot

The tracks on Mitch's arm itched like crazy under his cashmere sweater so much he was haven't trouble concentrating on the interviewers questions. He jiggled his leg in vain to distract himself but Kristen kept shooting him looks to stop. 

Mitch whispered a sorry and dug his nails into his hand, anything to distract himself from the insistent itching and blinding headache. Scott nudged him playfully with his microphone, making Mitch look up at him.   
Scott's pupils were sickeningly tiny for this early in the morning, shaking as they studied Mitch's features.   
That explained why he was so mellow in this interview. Mitch frowned and turned away trying to hide his disgust on his face. 

The performance they gave was average at best, Mitch couldn't concentrate on where they were and Scott kept slurring his words and leaning on the mic stand. If looks could kill, Mitch would be dead from Avi's unwavering stare. They'd all piled back into the bus after the disaster this morning to head to the next city.   
"That could have gone better." Kevin sighed, folding his arms behind his head, looking disappointed in himself.   
Mitch felt terrible seeing how sad his three friends looked and wished he could apologize.   
Scott laid his head on Mitch’s shoulder and sniffed. "I didn't think we were too bad. We're just a little tired, aren't we Mitchy?" He murmured, nuzzling Mitch's neck.   
"Don't say anything, you little bitch" Scott hissed, barely above a whisper but Mitch felt the threat deep in his very core.   
Mitch nodded, swallowing heavily and trying to look anywhere from Avi's concerned stare. 

Eventually after an uncomfortable silence, Kirstie curled up in her bunk and called her fiancé and Kevin climbed into his and put his headphones on, leaving Avi, Scott and Mitch in the dining room.   
Mitch could feel Scott becoming lethargic and irritable from the way he was staring to sniff and itch at his arm.   
He hoped he'd leave him alone for once instead if dragging him away to his bunk to force more heroin into him.

Avi still didn't move, his stare remaining on Mitch face making him feel rather self conscious. He could feel The heat radiating off of Scott as his anger built from Avi's presence made Mitch nervous, he knew Scott’s temper was becoming shorter, especially when his control of a situation slipped.   
Scott growled and slammed a hand on the table, causing Mitch to squeak. "Fine I get it. I'll go." He grumbled and stomped off to his bunk, aggressively sliding the curtains.   
“Scott wait -” Mitch protested, mainly out of habit, only stopping when he felt Avi's hand on his knee. Scott growled in response, flipping Mitch the bird from between his curtains.

Mitch bit at his lip, knowing full well that he’d be punished for his actions.  
Avi watched Scotts bunk like a hawk, a death stare plastered on his features, and lent in to Mitch's personal space.  
"We're gonna stop the bus and get some food ok." He whispered, giving Mitch's knee a squeeze.   
A unfamiliar sense of warmth flooded Mitch's system, something he thought he'd never feel again.   
Somebody cared. 

Once Mitch had checked that Scott was "asleep"(so high he could of been in a coma.) and they were close enough to the next city that the driver could take a power nap, Avi and Mitch stepped off the bus and strolled into a tiny truck stop diner. Mitch read the clock: "3.30" and knew they only had an hour before they had to be back on the road.   
An hour of freedom.   
Mitch held the tears of joy back and ordered something simple. Meanwhile Avi ordered a big ol’ stack of pancakes and a coffee.   
"Avi, we have an hour"   
Avi quirked an eyebrow, "You underestimate my love for food." He said in all seriousness, giving him a smirk.   
Mitch smiled to his own surprise and looked out the window at the bus, staring mindlessly at a couple of truckers drinking tins of cheap beer.  
It felt good to finally be away from himIt hasn't occurred to him how long Scott had been in control of him, And how long this had been going on. 

"Mitch what's going on." Avi's question snapped Mitch back into reality, sending a stab of ice through his body.   
"What do you mean?" He fumbled with his words, mentally cursing his lack of a poker face.   
Avi sighed and sipped his water. "I figured you wouldn't tell me." He mumbled into his glass.   
"So I'll just tell you what I'm seeing and feel free to tell me I'm wrong." Avi said matter a factly, grabbing Mitch's hand.   
"Show me your arm."  
Mitch shook his head, knowing his face was betraying him, tears threatening to spill over his cheeks. Avi couldn't look any more disappointed as he pushed up Mitch's sleeve as he feebly protested.   
"Avi, please don't. No, dont please-"   
He was so ashamed of what Avi revealed, he wished the ground would devour him. 

His track marks were so angry, scabbed and fresh, some haphazardly covered with tape to stop the itching. His vein pulsed a deep indigo in the crook of his arm, swollen from over use. The tight burns from the ropes and belts on his forearm, so severe that his tattoos were distorted. 

"Oh fuck." Avi cursed, unable to pull his eyes away. "Scott is doing this to you, isn't he?" He whispered in disbelief.   
Mitch was crying now, the tears flowing freely onto the table. He didn't have the strength to pretend anymore.   
"I'm broken, Avi. He hurts me." He sniffled, struggling to even look at his friend.   
Their food arrived and Avi gave Mitch his arm back to hide the evidence.   
Avi took a bite and encouraged Mitch to eat.   
"What does he do Mitch?" He whispered through a mouthful of pancakes.   
Mitch sobbed into his salad, trying to gather his strength. He took a bite to try and appear normal.   
"He forces me to shoot heroin." Mitch spoke quietly, itching at his arm, and finding the gas station salad to be flavorless.   
Though most things were flavorless these days. He couldn't enjoy anything without the constant threat of pain or the insistent itching. 

"Mitch, that's not all he does is it?" Avi questioned the boy whose thick tears were dripping down his chin. 

Avi sighed when Mitch shook his head and looked away. "Mitch, you jump when there's loud noises or Scott raises his voice. You cower away from touch and no amount of money will stop Nicole from telling the rest of us that she's seen your burns and black eyes." Avi stated, grabbing Mitch's hands as he sobbed.   
Mitch felt the shame of trying to bribe their makeup artist burn in his cheeks. Nicole has always stayed tight lipped about anything her clients tell her in confidence, but when Mitch came to a show with a poorly concealed shiner, she finally cracked.

"Mitch, please talk to me. I want to help you." Avi squeezed his hands, "Please."   
Mitch felt the words rise within him, though they couldn't escape. Scott would kill him.   
He'd probably push Mitch off a balcony and make it seem like an accident.   
Mitch shook his head and stood from his seat, Avi stood with him and began to protest.   
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Mitch sniveled, shaking his head and holding Avi's hands.   
Avi looked at him sadly, his eyes begging him to speak as he pulled Mitch into a hug. His arms enveloped Mitch's tiny frame and Mitch wished he'd absorb him.  
Anything to take him out of the nightmare that his life had become.


	4. Choking on your tongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mitch's body is starting to fail him and people are starting to notice that not all is right in the Grassi-Hoying house.

The tick started small. A small tremor in his upper lip. Nothing to worry about, it was only blood rushing through it too fast.   
Then it got worse. Mitch stared at his face in the mirror, watching, waiting for the tick to appear.   
"4.3.2.1"  
His upper lip tweaked into a sneer and froze for a solid minute before releasing. Mitch groaned, it was just another thing that was wrong with him from all this substance abuse. His hair was never clean and his nails seemed to always be severely brittle. He wouldn't be surprised if his teeth fell out next.   
Mitch had started to notice Scott developing similar twitches too, though much more severe than Mitch’s small sneer.   
He'd watch Scott perform, lost in the music when as if to flick a stray hair, he'd twitch his head to the left and hold it there for a solid 5 seconds. It was severe enough that the IT people got his earpieces checked in case they were affecting his sense of balance. 

Scott blamed everything from the venue to even the fans for being too loud for his slacking voice and every other problem when it was really sitting in his pocket the whole time.   
Scott couldn't get his heavy binge fixes on the road so he'd taken to shooting in the morning, midday and evening, which was having a serious affect on his vocal strength. He was so doped up that people could blow it off as he was tired, but the sun set and he was alone with Mitch, he'd become the monster that haunted Mitch’s nightmares.

Tonight, it seemed Scott decided that the sloppy concert this time was Mitch’s damn fault doping him until he couldn't see anymore.   
Mitch gurgled, his eyes lolled in his sockets and an excess of drool flowed freely from his lips. He'd lost track of time and the function of his eyeballs about two hours ago.

He hated this kind of high. Trapped in his own body unable to do anything but dribble and grunt like a restrained boar.   
Scott lent on the kitchenette, watching his friend pull feebly on the cloth ropes that secured each of his limbs to a foot of the bed.   
God, it was a turn on.  
Watching Mitch drool and seize made Scott want to dominate the poor boy. Take him while he cried hopelessly, unable to control his body. Scott smirked and pulled his clothes off, approaching Mitch's body. He stroked along Mitch’s heaving chest with a delicate fingertip, making Mitch whine. 

"Aw. Hush now baby. Daddy's here." Scott soothed, climbing up over Mitch’s restrained body. Scott lapped at the drool streaking down Mitch's chin and kissed him deeply. Mitch groaned and desperately tried to pull away, yet Scott was powerfully strong, forcing his tongue down his throat.

Mitch was drowsy, though he could feel the sweet burn of arousal igniting in his belly. He felt deeply ashamed as his body disobeyed his feelings, his cock hardening in his small boxer shorts. Scott hummed in approval, rubbing his own hardened piece against Mitch's growing erection.   
"Aw fuck Mitchy. You're turning Daddy on so much." Scott groaned, sliding Mitch's boxer shorts down and taking his cock into his hands. He gently wanked his friend, indulging in Mitch's wanton state. A small dribble of precum bubbled out of his tip, and trickled over Scott's fingers.

"Ooh baby. You like this don't you?" Scott taunted, dragging his tongue up Mitch's now fully erect cock.   
Mitch unwillingly bucked his hips, shame burning in his cheeks, the primal need for fulfillment over powering his desperate resistance.   
Scott smirked, proud of his handy work and loosened the ropes on Mitch's legs.   
"Mm. Mitchy loves Daddy Scott doesn't he? Does he want Daddy to fuck him?" He taunted, sucking his fingers before sliding them into Mitch's relaxed hole. Parts of Mitch's cloudy mind screamed at him to fight, to not allow him entrance, but the drugs were too strong, the clouds too heavy. Mitch let the desire flood his system as Scott slid himself inside, moaning like a 70s porn star. 

"Aw fuck. You fucking love that." He hissed, slapping Mitch on the ass, and pulling his ankles apart. Mitch moaned at the delightful sensation of Scott's thick member rubbing up against his prostate, pounding it with every thrust. The pleasure was overwhelming, Mitch feeling himself smile as Scott fucked him roughly. The cloud of the heroin was distorting his will to fight against the powerful man inflicting such delightful amounts of pleasure upon him.  
"Mm. Scotty..." He managed to slur out as Scott sucked on his neck.   
"Mmmhm Mitchy? You like it?" Scott whispered, nipping at the flesh on Mitch's throat.   
He'd broken him. Scott had finally broken him. Mitch was enjoying the high at last and was letting Scott fuck him. He didn't even need the tape this time.  
"You're finally mine Mitchy. My little bitch." Scott growled, finding his release and shooting his load deep into Mitch's ass.   
Mitch gasped, finding his own release, shooting his load up his chest, his vision blasting back into reality with the force of his orgasm.

Mitch struggled to catch his breath as Scott pulled out of him and untied the ropes before crashing hard into a drug-induced sleep.   
The passion faded as quickly as it came. Mitch felt Scott’s seed inside him, a warm disgusting splatter across his insides.   
Mitch got up and stumbled to the hotel bathroom and locked the door. His cum was becoming tacky on his chest, the evidence of his relenting to Scott’s power tormenting him as it dried.   
His vision was clearing, though he wished it wouldn't. He couldn't barely look at what he’d become.  
He'd let Scott inside him without a fight; he gave in to the feeling of pleasure.  
He was dirty.   
Scotts cum started to fall from him, sticky white stringy goo tricking down his thigh.   
He was disgusting.   
Mitch looked at himself in the mirror, finger shaped bruises covered his tiny body, the burns from the belts getting worse with everyday of this tour.   
Mitch was broken.


	5. Becoming See-through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mitch was cold.   
> He couldn't feel anything. Fans hugged him, Kirstie painted his nails, Nicole beat his face, nothing.   
> Just emptiness. 
> 
> Mitch hoped that this empty feeling would disappear when he got home. Maybe he could lock his door and pack a bag full and just run to his parents. 
> 
> Maybe he could just lock his door and rot inside.

Cold.   
Mitch was cold.   
He couldn't feel anything. Fans hugged him, Kirstie painted his nails, Nicole beat his face, nothing.   
Just emptiness.   
The tour was finally over, allowing "normal" life to resume.   
Mitch hoped that this empty feeling would disappear when he got home. Maybe he could lock his door and pack a bag full and just run to his parents. 

Maybe he could just lock his door and rot inside.

Avi gave Mitch a tight crushing hug. “please don’t hesistate to call me if something horrible happens”   
Mitch avoided meeting Avi’s eyes and nodded quickly, pulling away and walking up the stairs. 

Avi turned to leave, sending Mitch a few texts to remind him if he needed ANYTHING, he could call him. 

Stumbling into their apartment for the first time in months was bitter sweet. Mitch missed his home, his bed and even his carpet. He got to pick up Wyatt in a couple of days, and he even brought a new bed spread from Japan. 

What didn’t miss was the fact that Scott pulled him into the apartment by the hair and threw him against a wall.

“What the fuck did you tell him?!” Scott growled, his voice alarmingly loud and vicious. Mitch whimpered, cowering from Scott’s intensity.   
“Nothing! He asked me constantly and I told him nothing!” Mitch pleaded, his voice quivering in fear of what Scott could do to him.  
Scott huffed, running a hand through his hair. “You clearly told him something. He won’t leave you alone!” he explained, holding Mitch’s phone in his hand. Multiple texts from Avi lit up the screen, asking him if he was ok or if he needed him. 

Mitch frantically shook his head and grabbed Scott’s hand. “No, No. Baby. I didn’t tell him anything. He’s not here now is he? We’re together again, just the two of us.” Mitch whispered, trying desperately to calm Scott’s temper.   
Scott seemed to mellow, the heroin he shot in the bus finally hitting him.   
“Just us?” he smiled, stroking a knuckle along Mitch’s cheek.   
Mitch nodded, trying to believe the bullshit he was rattling off. “Yes, Daddy. Just us. No Avi, No Kirsten, No Kevin. It’s just us now. We can be together.” He forced himself to crack a smile and hoped to God it looked genuine through Scott’s increasingly glassy eyes. 

Scott gave him a lazy smile and ruffled Mitch’s hair. “Good. This is good. I’m getting sleepy, I’m just gonn-” he hardly got time to finish his sentence before he slipped in to a drug induced coma, slumping onto the floor and snoring.

Mitch released the shaky breath he was holding and finally let his tears fall.   
It was only a day back home and he feared for his life.  
Mitch quietly stepped over Scott’s sleeping form and quickly shoved the last of the heroin he had on him down the garbage disposal. The noise wouldn’t wake Scott, nothing could now he was out. He fumbled through his bag with shaking hands, desperately searching for the small cardboard package that contained his cigarettes. He hadn’t smoked in years, but he impulsively brought a pack in the airport. Maybe it’d calm his frazzled nerves.  
He clumsily lit the cigarette on their balcony, breathing in the disgusting fumes with a shaky breath. Mitch peered back into their lounge nervously, finding Scott, still comatose on the carpet, and let the event sink in.  
Scott could have very easily killed him.  
Mitch traced the welts on his arms from Scott’s fingernails, utterly terrified. He quickly text Avi, telling him he couldn’t text anymore as he feared for his safety if he were to receive anything from him. It broke his heart as he sent the message, receiving a text back immediately reading only: 

“Be safe x”

Mitch considered his options then and there. He could run, easily. Find solace with Avi or Kristen or Kevin. Hell, even Mario would take him in. But what would happen to Scott? Would he just crumble?   
Would he come and find him?  
Would he…Would he kill Mitch for leaving him?  
Mitch shuddered at the thought, he couldn’t let his friends deal with this. It was his burden to bear.   
“I’ve dealt with everything up to this point” He murmured, dragging on his cigarette. “What’s a few more bruises and ticks?”


	6. I can't remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Come now baby, time for your medicine." Scott lazily sang undoing the scarf from around his arm, waving it fruitily in the air. Mitch knew it was futile to resist.

Mitch woke up bruised and sick from the drugs in his system in Scott's bed, with Scott's arm draped across him.   
His mouth tasted like dirt, his skin burning like a thousand fires, His head was cloudy and heavy. It was almost comical how use to the dirt feeling he was.   
Mitch rolled out of Scott's sweaty embrace and dragged himself into the bathroom. 

The small bathroom stank of sex and the drain was clogged with…god who knows what. The fact that couldn’t remember made Mitch feel sicker than he already felt. He avoided looking at it, choosing to instead try and tidy himself up.   
The bathroom counter had a ridiculous amount of empty syringes littered across it as well as blood in the sink. He did remember where that blood came from.   
Scott pricked himself with a syringe that had broken, cursing every god known to man, not for the blood pissing out of his finger, but instead the waste of heroin. It made Mitch feel disgusting, as his memories of the night began to flood back.

Scott had fucked Mitch, testing out his new technique of gagging Mitch with his fingers shoved down his throat until Mitch was dry heaving with every thrust  
Mitch sat on the floor of the bathroom sobbing quietly, his throat raw from vomiting up his evening meal, his skin stinging like thousands of angry bees were under his it and his ass aching from Scott's none too gentle fucking. Scott towered over the broken man, swaying slightly from the alcohol and drugs in his system.   
"Give me a sec, Mitchy, Daddy's head's hurtin" he hummed, tying his arm and loading up his syringe. The sickening bliss that crept across Scott's face as the heroin entered his system was enough to make Mitch ill. 

"Come now baby, time for your medicine." Scott lazily sang undoing the scarf from around his arm, waving it fruitily in the air. Mitch knew it was futile to resist and nodded weakly, offered his arm to his 'daddy', keeping his face as stoic as someone who had just thrown up while getting fucked could.

The burning began to subside much to Mitch’s disgust as the heroin released itself into his system. He felt his head become cloudy as the buzz kicked in. He could feel himself start to smile as the sickening bliss of heroin sped through his system.   
Scott smirked. "There's my lil Mitchy. Come on, let's have some more fun" 

That was all Mitch could recall, and that sickened him.   
Mitch swiped all the needles into the trash with a sweeping motion, he'd have to burn these later.  
He dug around in the bathroom cupboards for bandages and alcohol, these pock marks on his arm were not good for Pentatonix's squeaky clean image. Even though his arm was basically ruined.  
Sitting on the lid of the toilet, Mitch bandaged his wounds, alone and empty. 

Monday progressed like any day.   
Mitch tried his hardest to ignore Scott, locking himself in his room for most of it, though he had to escape the four walls of his room eventually before he drove himself mad.   
"Mitchy, you know you can't ignore me forever." Scott taunted from the kitchen over the Beyoncé track blasting from his phone.   
Mitch sipped his tea, tapping away at his Twitter. "I can certainly try." 

He hummed, standing from the couch and grabbing a pack of cigarettes from his bag. "Don't follow me."

Scott briefly looked up from his tied arm and shrugged. "Whatever."  
Mitch sat at a tiny little indie bar and smoked. The taste was bitter, but it was like alcohol to Mitch. Smoking gave him a touch of power over Scott as he couldn't stand the smell. 

His phone buzzed again did the thousandth time. 

Scott: where r u. Come home. I miss u. 

Mitch snorted and took a drag of his cigarette.   
"Fuck you." He mumbled under his breath, exhaling the smoke through his nostrils. While he felt more in control now, his jittery hands betrayed the truth. He was having terrible heroin withdrawals. The cigarettes took the edge off, but his head pounded something chronic. Scott hadn't shown any with drawl symptoms but that was because he never let the withdrawal kick in.   
His phone tinged impatiently again. 

Scott: why r u so mad. Nothin is different. Come home. We'll talk. 

Mitch grumbled and lit another cigarette giving him courage to reply. 

Mitch: Things are different. Don't you ever touch me again. 

He aggressively stabbed the period and tapped send.   
Butterflies rose up in Mitch’s belly, getting caught in his windpipe.   
He knew what he just did would result in something terrible happening to him tomorrow.  
But it was worth a shot.


	7. Why Should I change?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You said nothing about anything else touching you.

As the sun rose, Mitch dreaded the idea of waking up, though he wasn't greeted by Scott, standing over him, like he usually was.   
Mitch, being ever inquisitive, crawled out of bed and crept into the lounge, finding Scott tapping away on his phone. 

Mitch just stared at him until he looked up.   
"You said you didn't want me to touch you again" Scott murmured, not looking up from his phone. "So I'm not touching you." He shrugged, it looked like to Mitch, that he was playing candy crush.   
"I...didn't think you'd listen" Mitch said weakly, trying to swallow the fear in his voice.   
Scott didn't look at him. "You said pretty clearly that you didn't want me to touch you. So I'm not." He shrugged again, continuing to swipe on his phone.   
Mitch nodded awkwardly, shuffling his feet.   
"Ok. That's good. Thanks for listening to me for once." His voice wavered slightly as he turned on his heel, returning to his room. 

"Mitchy..." Scott's voice was so cold it sent a stab of ice through Mitch's body.   
"You said I can't touch you. You said nothing about anything else." Scott hummed, the sound of candy crush still humming away behind Mitch. 

Mitch couldn't force his legs to move, he was frozen on the spot. He heard Scott stand from the couch and stride over to him.   
Scott's breath appeared on his neck making him shiver.   
"There's so much else I could do to you Mitchy." He breathed, making Mitch's tiny hairs stand up on his neck. " I don't need to touch you to get my fix. I can drive you wild without laying a finger on you."   
Scott's voice was so dark and deep it vibrated in Mitch's chest.   
Mitch hated the fact he was starting to get hard from Scott being so close to him. He knew it was going to hurt.   
Yet if he closed his eyes and just listened to Scott's voice and breath on his neck, he could almost pretend everything was fine. 

~

Mitch was jolted awake by a cold blast of water to his face.   
"Wake up sleepy head" Scott sang happily, shaking the hose in his hand.   
Mitch's head felt like a ton of bricks on his neck and his arm was burning something horrible.  
Drugged.   
Again.   
"Scott, no." He slurred, his mouth refusing to actually form words clear words.

"You said don't touch. So I'm not going touch you." Scott hummed, twirling the hose in his hand around. 

"So this is going to instead." He taunted, pressing the leaver on the nozzle and shooting Mitch with a freezing cold blast of water. 

Mitch screamed, the water like freezing cold needles piercing his skin.   
He tried in vain to move but his limbs refused to move faster than a crawl. They tingled painfully as his blood rushed back into them in vain. The drug in his system wasn't about to give up that easily. 

"Naww Mitchy, just give up would you? You're not going to get away." Scott mocked, blasting him with another blast of water. 

The water hit the right side of Mitch's thigh making him buckle from his kneeling position. He slapped onto the ground face first, his arms rendered useless from the drug. Mitch felt a crack as he landed, immediately tasting blood. He let out a strangled cry, blood rushing out of his mouth, the pain shooting through the drug induced numbness. 

"My- My teeth!” He spluttered, trying in vain to sit himself up, teeth shards tumbling from his mouth.   
Scott dropped the hose he was holding and strode over to him, pulling him up by his shoulders.   
"Look at me." He commanded, much to harshly for someone showing concern, making Mitch's stomach clench in fear.   
Scott cupped Mitch's jaw, his thumb pulling his bottom lip down.   
Scott's face was unreadable as Mitch stared at him, tears spilling down his face as the blonde poked and prodded his broken teeth. 

"Scott..." Mitch whimpered over the fingers in his mouth. "Scott, please..." 

Scott stepped back from the broken boy, a look of disgust on his face.   
"Please What Mitch?! What are you begging for!?” He snarled, reeling back a hefty back hand and striking the boy across the face. 

Mitch screamed, collapsing in a heap on the floor.   
"Again, I ask. What are you begging for?” Scott growled, kicking the boy’s shins.  
Mitch cried brokenly, his whole body shaking with each sob. Tears and mucus mixed with the blood as it trickled down his chin and pooling on the floor.   
Mitch forced himself into a sitting position, surprising Scott enough that he stopped his assault.   
"Mitch..." He warned.  
Mitch snapped up at him, his eyes, though blurry with tears were fiery and wild.   
"Mitch, what are you begging for?” Mitch repeated thickly through the blood in his mouth. "No...I think I should ask you. What the fuck are you doing?" He spat, keeping his vicious eye contact.   
"What the fuck do you want from me?" He shouted as loud as the drugs and blood would allow him, his voice breaking at the end of his statement as he collapsed in the front of his 'best friend'.


	8. I am my Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do you let him go? 
> 
> Or do you keep him all to yourself?

The next few hours were hell.   
Scott paced around the apartment, considering what his options were.   
Take Mitch to the hospital and risk getting arrested. Or sitting here and telling him to deal with the fact his teeth were falling out.   
Both were bad.  
Scott didn't know what compelled him to want to hurt Mitch, there was just...something. Something inside him tugging on his brain every time he looked at Mitch, screaming "make him cry. Make him scream"   
Scott held in the sob that rose into his throat. He was kidding himself. He knew what it was.   
Heroin.   
The word sent shivers through Scott's body.   
He and Mitch had been invited to a shady little dive bar and had been offered a shot of heroin.   
Not wanting to get attacked, they'd both agreed. The drug instantly made all of Scott's aches and thoughts disappear, making his body as warm as a quick dip into a Jacuzzi in the snow. The two of them had somehow made it back to their hotel room, Mitch basically needing to be carried through the threshold. Scott had laid the tiny boy down on his bed and he didn't know what part of begged him to tickle the boy but he started trailing his fingertips along his ribs.   
"Nooo. Scott, dontttt" Mitch whined, his words slurring heavily as if he had a wad of cotton stuffed in each cheek.   
Scott's heroin clogged brain ignored Mitch's slurred pleas and continued tickling the boy. 

He wasn't sure when the heroin started fading but he remembered seeing Mitch screaming for him to stop with tears streaming down his face. It was like that every time. He blacked out and only began to come back to his senses as Mitch began to scream.   
Yet he couldn't stop.   
The heroin lows were excruciating, like millions of tiny bees buzzing in his ears. 3.30 in the morning were his guaranteed vomit time as the heroin forced itself out of him. 

Yet he always went back for more. He couldn't stop chasing the high, couldn't stop having Mitch all to himself.   
Scott caught the sob in his throat, the pain of what he'd been doing slowly beginning to sink in as the morphine disappeared.   
The low sickness began to pang in his belly, forcing him onto his knees next to Mitch's unconscious body. He held back the vomit rising in his throat as he looked over his friend’s body. 

Mitch’s arm was ridiculously pock marked, scabbed and disgusting fresh, his blue angry vein was pulsing with every pump of blood and large bruises shaped like fingers around his upper arm. 

Mitch's eyes were lolled back in their sockets, his eyelids fluttering over the whites as his body struggled to wake up, drool and mucus flowing freely from his facial orifices. 

Scott clenched his teeth, it hurt so bad to see him like that.   
Like a torn up unwanted doll.   
Scott stood from the floor, his head reeling from the excruciating low and his way over to the mirror.   
He looked like.... shit   
Scott’s eyes were bloodshot and his eyelids drooping, his lips chapped and ripped from his constant gnawing with blood caked nostrils and fingernails. He looked disgusting and it hurt.   
He'd left himself get like this. He was a monster. The buzzing in his brain grew and louder, the swarm of bees inside his mind growing increasingly angry and insistent. 

Scott sat crying and staring at the two last clean syringes, begging him to use them. He gnawed on dry skin on his lips, grabbing the two vials and staring at the liquid gold contained within.   
"God forgive me." He mumbled, sucking up the remainder of the heroin tar into the syringes and jamming them both into his ugly purple vein.   
The buzzing began to drift away as he pushed on the plungers, the lucid warmth filling his brain and wiping his pain from existence. He slumped against the kitchen counter, his limbs feeling like they were made of jello. He stared through his glassy eyes at Mitch who was beginning to splutter awake.   
"I'm gonna keep you all mine."


End file.
